


Warmth Finds Reality

by Elzbun



Series: Valentine's Time [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, F/M, Flashbacks, It Gets Better, Learning how to be a real child, Multi, Nightmares, OC, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Snape is a good man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elzbun/pseuds/Elzbun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine had accepted at a young age that she probably wouldn't live to become a teenager. She didn't even know how she'd survived as long as she had.<br/>But her whole world and her expectations are thrown upside down when she is rescued by a man claiming to be a wizard and teacher at a magical school, and that she herself is a witch.<br/>Now Valentine has to not only learn about this magical world she's been shoved face first into, but has to learn, and quickly, how to be a normal child, a task proven more difficult than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this first chapter….well it's not very nice, and I will put a warning sign like this:
> 
> ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
> 
> For, you know. Safety. Although I DID tag it so....if you're shocked you clearly have not been paying attention.
> 
> This is probably the most....scarring chapter. So don't think the mental screaming carries on because it doesn't. Although dreams are an excuse to be as fucked up as possible but those don't count okay they don't!
> 
> Un-beta'd. So you know. Its always a gamble with a dyslexic writing so say if you notice mistakes!

 

Ground drained of colour and warmth. As far as the sky can see. White against black overhead, never ending. The frozen winding trail of what should normally have been a river seems to have carved its way through the never ending white, like a snake in the sand. Along the trail of this snake in the snow you’d be able to see various spots of light. Lights of a civilization, no matter how small it seemed, it certainly was a change from the surrounding landscape. It was Warmth. Alive.

On the edge of one of the many small villages, on the little the banks of the river, was a popular tavern. In fact, it was the only one for miles around. Of course it was popular. What’s second best to a fire to warm you? Liquor. On this night, the occupants of the bar where particularly rowdy, their drunken songs and jeers almost shaking the small rickety building.

Inside the building, it was a typical alcohol influenced scene, no matter what country one was in. On the right side of the room was a wooden bar, packed with men huddled in their dark thick costs, perched quite precariously on bar stools. The room was filled with the smoke of cigars, the stench being enough to make ones eyes water upon entering the room.The only thing that was noticeably different from what would be considered normal from an outsiders point of view was the occasional glimpse of golden hair from between the large mass of bodies. The owner of the hair was tiny, even while standing up you would be lucky to get a glance at the child at which adorned the pale locks.

Her existence was simply a rumour outside of the tavern. She had never been seen outside of it, only seen by the frequents of the tavern. Some people in the towns say she’s a myth, others a street child or some…a ghost of a dead infant. She particularly liked that last rumour. To not been seen…what a joy that talent would be. As the child was zipping back and forth between the bar and the faithful customers, delivering drinks and taking orders and instructions one of the tables took note of the child.

“девушка (Girl)!” One of the two men barked when she was in hearing range, over the noise in the room. She hurried over to where she was summoned, having delivered the glasses to their destination on another table.

The two men sat around the round wooden table, both staring at the girl with keen interest.

“Мой, что мало, что вы есть!” (My, what a little thing you are!) The rugged looking man on the left said, leaning forward to expect her more closely. As the girl took in their faces, she realized they were new, which make her insides cold with worry. Regulars she could handle, but new comers? They where a different matter entirely. They didn’t know the rules…regulars knew not to stare at her too closely… not to touch her…these men did not. But she stared at the floor dutifully. She was a good girl.

She was small thing, even for her age of ten, standing at only 4 foot 7, not to mention her small under nourished frame. “Посмотрите на меня ребенка.” (Look at me child.) The man spoke again, taking her jaw into his rough grip. She bit her lip from crying out in a panic. Both the men’s eyes widened as they got a clear view of the child’s dirt smudgedface. Large caramel eyes, even in the dim light seemed to glow, stared back at the man anxiously. The man’s dark eyes studied her face for a moment, before letting go of her chin.

“Сколько тебе лет девочка??” (How old are you girl?)

“десять…” (Ten…) The man grinned and grabbed her wrist, his whole hand being able to wrap around her wrist. She dropped the tray that was in her other hand in surprise. She struggled against the mans grip but it proved pointless, as he was so much stronger then her.

“Тише ребенок! Там нет необходимости пугаться, мы просто хотим, чтобы играть.” (Hush child! There's no need to be frightened, we just want to play.)

“Н-нет - п-пожалуйста! Вы с-не могу!” (N-no—p-please! You c-can’t!) She struggled harder, breath coming out faster and the fear set in. They were in the dark shaded corner of the tavern, no one was looking. No one would see. The men both laughed at her feeble struggles.

“Я не могу? Разве так говорить с ценного клиента? Тогда придите. Подавать меня.” (I can't? Is that any way to talk to a valuable customer? Come now. Serve me.) His heavy hand rested on her ribcage, trying to tug her closer, and it was working despite her efforts.

“П-пожалуйста ...” (P-please…) She cried tearfully.

Suddenly a hand came down onto that of the customer, the mans eyes snapping up to stare at the looming figure over her shoulder. Her senses were drenched in ice-cold fear, her body suddenly feeling numb.

There was a click and the room fell silent. Master held his weapon in his hand, the barrel mere inches at the head of the customer. The customers face went from anger to fear in a second and he scrambled back in his chair. The acid stench of his and his companions fear reached her nose and she tried not to gag on it.

“оставлять.“ (Leave.) Master said stiffly, dark eyes hard and unwavering. The two men couldn’t get out fast enough, the rest of the tavern watching on with knowing eyes. They knew better.

When the two men had left Master lowered the gun and suddenly the sound talk and conversations resumed in the tavern as though nothing had ever happened. He took hold of her upper arm in a bruising grip as he turned and started to drag her across the room.

“Я-я с-жаль-- “ (I-I’m s-sorry--)

“тихо.“ (Quite.) Her mouth closed with a _snap_ , covering her mouth with her other had as tears streamed down her face. His grip didn’t loosen, in fact it tightened even further, and she tried to muffle a whimper in pain. He led her to the locked storeroom behind the bar, where the stock and various supplies were kept. He pushed her in there with such force she fell, scraping her hands and knees. She stayed on the floor, as Master locked the door, and cradled the bruising print on her forearm, shoulders hunched and eyes on the floor. Master turned to her, striding over to catch her jaw in his unyielding grip, yanking her face up to face him.

“До. “ (Up.) Her eyes instantly flew to his, her own teary gaze reflected in his cold orbs. “Перестань плакать. Вы знаете, как некрасиво это заставляет вас выглядеть. “ (Stop crying. You know how ugly it makes you look.) She bit her lip till she tasted blood, trying to stop the stream of salty tears in their tracks. He studied her face for a moment, before his lip twisted in disgust and he let go of her jaw roughly.

“Колени. Сейчас.“ (Knees. Now.) She got down stiffly onto her knees on the cold concrete floor, wincing as a particularly bad bruise on her hip flared with pain. Master undid his belt, the sharp clacks of metal clanking shockingly loud in the quite room, the sound of the crowd outside muffled by the heavy concrete walls. The air was cold and frigid, her breath coming out like white fluffy clouds.

Master let his trousers drop to the floor. She stared. Hard. Red. Angry.

“---“ (Open.)

He used her mouth until she chocked. 

 

\-----------

 

A week had gone by since the new customers had left. Although a few nights ago a new customer started coming in the evening. He looked like no one she’d ever seen before. His eyes watched her all night, every night for the past two days. From the corner of the room, at one of the few booths in the tavern, he sat. He wasn’t from around here, that much was obvious. His skin was pale, but that wasn’t so unusual around here. What was strange was how he was dressed, from head to toe in black, long robe-like clothes. He had shoulder length black hair, and crooked hooked nose and nighttime coloured eyes. Whenever she walked past his table she felt something like…a shiver. He never spoke to her, even when she asked him what he would like for her to get him. He just stared.

When the time finally came for her to come to his table this night, she felt nervous, his eyes having a certain intenseness this time that the other nights lacked. She approached his table slowly, stopping just in front of it, holding the tray and some kind of shield in front of her body.

“Гм ... вы бы хотели что-нибудь выпить, сэр?” (Um…would you like something to drink, sir?) She asked in a quiet voice. He was holding himself tensely, and his mouth seemed to be tightly pinched. She waited a few seconds for his reply before assuming that, like usual, he didn’t want anything. She turned to leave--

“Как тебя зовут?” (What is your name?) She stopped short and turned back around with wide eyes. His voice seemed to have a strange nasal drawl. It was…gentle, but his accent was odd. He wasn’t from around here; he’s not even Russian.

Alright. She was confused. No one had ever asked her that before, so why now was this man, who had before never said a word, asking for her name?

“V-Valentine…” She all but whispered, her eyes wide and searching. He nodded.

“Вам здесь нравится??” (Do you like it here?) Valentine hesitated. Why would he be asking her this? No one had ever asked her that.

She shook her head in answer, staring at the table in front of her, refusing to meet his eyes. The man rested his arms on the table and leant forward.

“Если бы вы могли, вы бы покинуть это место??” (If you could, would you leave this place?) She looked up sharply. His eyes held her gaze steadily, studying her face. All she had ever known was this. She had never thought about what she’d do if she could leave.

She nodded.

“Я вернусь.” (I will be back.)

He stood up from the table, and Valentine’s mouth gaped open slightly, wanting desperately to say something, but nothing came out, words would not form. He was very tall, taller than Master. With one more glance the strange man left.

 

\-----------

 

For the past ten years, she had lived in the storage room behind the bar. The place she slept was a collection of blankets in the far right hand side of the room, around some of the more permanent storage boxes. She’d liked the smell of the wood and cotton, draped the blankets around to form a sort of cocoon of protection from the rest of the cold room. She was curled up into a ball against the wall, her arms wrapped around her skinny legs, the filthy brown dress that resembled a sack more than an article of clothing, did nothing to keep her warm. The only thing that kept it from falling from her tiny shoulders was a piece of rope tied around her chest, to keep it supported. She shivered, a tiny tremor running through her body. Her body ached, and although she was familiar with the pain, it was sharper then usual. Recently Master had been beating her harder. It had started about two months ago. His pale face had been darkened with anger as he raged and roared with anger. On that night, he had beaten her so hard that she had blacked out for the rest of the day. In the days that followed, she had not been able to move. Now, ever since then, he had beaten her or used her nearly every night since. It was always some form of punishment. She had not known why until three days ago. The first night the dark haired man started turning up.

She had been disposing of the soot and burned out firewood in the fire place, when she had noticed a piece of paper not fully burned hidden under the grate the wood sat on, only slightly charred. It had writing on it. Master had previously that night thrown a bundle of letters into the fire viciously, puce with anger.

She was not that good at reading, but she’d been taught the basics when she was little, but she knew enough to recognize her own name. Some of the kinder patrons of the bar would purposefully leave material behind for her to study or read to their companions something they found interesting, loud enough for her to hear.

‘ _Valentine_ ’ was what was written on the slither of paper. Someone from the outside world…knew she existed. But apart from the regulars, who knew about her? And only one person knew her name, and that was Master.

Oh…but that strange man did too…

Her stomach twisted sharply and a sinking feeling settled in her chest, like dead weight. Master obviously didn’t like those letters…whoever was writing these…it was causing her to be punished more than she could ever remember. Of course they couldn’t know what the effect of sending the letters had on her…but she wanted them to stop…she hoped they stopped…

If she didn’t reply, surely after a period of time they would just give up? She would have. Either way the whole thing was making her miserable…well…more so than usual.

 

She stayed curled in a ball for what must have been hours, but sleep did not come. She stared at her hands; curling and uncurling them, trying to get the blood flow back into the icy digits. Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep she imagined she was somewhere else. Somewhere warm. Yes. She liked the warmth. Somewhere not surrounded by the blankets of endless white, somewhere she wasn’t trapped. Somewhere happy…where she’d be happy. She wouldn’t hurt, and she wouldn’t cry…

But it was just a dream. She knew that. She would never be free. She’d never leave this life, as it was the only one she deserved. She had no talents, no real use except servicing Master. And she wasn’t even good enough at that to please him…

She bit her lip to try and suppress the tears that threatened to spill over. Rubbing her eyes harshly she sat up to inspect the new set of bruises on her knees, an ugly purple, green tinged around the edges. She poked it a few times.

“Hmm…” She frowned. Well that sure did hurt.

A loud crash echoed beyond the metal door of the room and she startled, quickly pressing herself against the wall at the door burst open, banging against the wall with a _BANG._ Master stood in the doorway, paper clutched in one fist, the other holding a mostly empty alcohol bottle, face red with fury.

“Кто ты разговаривал с вами маленькая сучка!” (Who have you been talking to you little bitch!!)He was upon her in three strides, grabbing her short hair in his hand and wrenching her up. She cried out in pain, clutching desperately at his wrists.

“Н-нет один! Клянусь Master, клянусь!” (N-no one! I swear Master, I swear!) Pain flared her senses as her hair was pulled viciously from her skull.

“Ты лжешь! Я знаю, что ты лжешь!” (You’re lying! I know you’re lying!) He snarled, throwing her to the ground roughly. He straddled her stomach, holding her hands above her head. She stared into the dark eyes of Master, heart pounding and fear freezing her limbs. “Это было настолько большим носом ублюдок не так ли? Я видел, как ты говорил с ним!” (It was that big nosed bastard wasn’t it? I saw you talking to him!) She wailed helplessly, his grip so tight on her wrist that her bones were creaking under the pressure. “Ваш мое! Ты слышишь меня? Ваш гребаный _принадлежит мне_!” (Your mine! Do you hear me? Your fucking _belong to me!!_ ) He roared in her face. She whimpered, turning her face away from him, trying to hide.

“После всего, что я сделал для вас, и это, как вы отплатить мне? Удалившись себя вне к первым иностранцем, который идет через эту чертову дверь?” (After everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you repay me? Whoring yourself out to a the first foreigner that walks through the fucking door?)

“Н-нет! Я--“ (N-no!  I—)

“Шлюхи предназначены для трахал, а не говорить!” ( _Whores are meant to be fucked, not talk!)_ A deafening _crack_ erupted into the quite room as Master’s fist made contact with her cheek, breaking something. She bit her lip to try and stifle the scream that erupted from her, knowing she’d be hurt even more if she made any more noise. But that seemed to spur Master on even more, like it was a game, trying to draw more and more pained noises out of her.

She closed her eyes as tight as she could, refusing to look at him, and although she couldn’t see what he was doing, she felt every blow, every crack of a bone, every sickening crunch. Her face, her rib cage, her legs.

 _Punch. Kick. Crack._ The endless cycle of pain. Never ending. It was always more painful than she remembered.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Suddenly he wrenched her dress up over her chest, and she could feel him shifting on top of  her before the weight of him was abruptly off. She sucked in a huge breath, panting lightly, not realizing her breathing had been altered with him no top of her. She peeked one eye open only to let out a pitiful little whimper seeing  Master undoing his belt buckle and pulling his trousers down just far enough to reveal his pudgy red member, glaring at her angrily. Grabbing her calf’s in a bruising grip he forces her legs open and dragged her to him.

“Маленькие шлюхи, как вы только просят, чтобы быть разорвана,” (Little whores like you are just begging to be torn open,) He muttered, beading eyes staring down between her legs with a look of hunger. She thought she might be sick. He lined himself up and slowly pushed in, letting out a long drawn groan. Pain blazed up her spine, and wet head (no doubtingly blood) seeped down her thighs as he forced his way into her. It was like being split in two, and hurt even worse every time, making her silently beg that one day he’ll hit her head that extra little bit harder and then it would be sweet oblivion forever more.

Master’s thrusts were brutal and un-yielding. The only sound was the slap of skin against skin, and the mans grunting and ragged breathing. It seemed to last forever. As his thrusts became even fast and brutal, the pain slowly started to ebb away, to leave and stomach churning numbness in its place.

His breath was hot and putrid as he gasped and groaned in her ear, giving her neck a sharp nip, no doubt to leave a mark. He leant back to look down at her, pulling her harder and harder down onto his stabbing member. Their eyes met and she poured all of her hatred and anger and pain into that gaze but he just grinned at her, a mess of ugly yellow teeth, a few missing. He bent over her, one hand resting on the stone floor next to her head, the other working around her throat, pressing slowly until she could barely breath.

“Вы, кажется, забыв свое место, шлюха,” (You seem to be forgetting your place, whore,) He said quietly. “Вам нужно преподать урок.” (You need to be taught a lesson.) His pace never stopped, slamming into her time and time again.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||(not as detailed after this)

“В следующий раз, что большой носом пизда приходит сюда,” (Next time that big nosed cunt comes in here,) His leant his face close to hers, where she was able to smell the alcohol on his breath. “Я убью его.” ( _I’ll kill him.)_

Panic flared in her chest, eyes going wide as her air supply was finally cut off completely. It was a fluttering sensation, making her thoughts erratic and confusing, but all she could think about was:

_He’s my only chance—he cant die—I’ll be left here—I will not die here!_

Master was no longer pinning her hands to the floor, and seeing the abandoned alcohol bottle on the floor next to them, she lurched sideways as Master got closer to his release, she grabbed the handle before slamming it down onto Master’s head as hard as she could, the glass shattering upon impact.

There was a moment silence where everything seemed to stand still for minutes when actually it was probably only a few seconds.

And then he slumped down, arms falling out from under him, 230 pounds of a man covering her 80 pound small body. The breath whooshed out of her and wept as she struggled under the unconscious man. She bucked up, trying to dislodge him from on top of her, his heavy weight putting strain on her ribs. Finally the man slumped sideways, freeing her torso and she could breathe again, huge gasping breaths. She frantically tugged and wiggled until her legs were finally free from under him and then scrambled away as quick as possible until she was pressed against the crates on the other side of the room.

Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears, thundering away as her chest rose and fell quickly. Master… wasn’t moving. He was absolutely still… could he be….

…no…

His torso was rising and falling. He was alive…

She crept a little closer on her hands and knees. His head was red with blood, the bottle having shattered from the impact. Looking down she realised there were several deep cuts on her hand that were oozing blood sluggishly. Her vision blurred as she stared down at her battered and freshly bloodied body. She felt numb, inside and out. Everything she was feeling felt distant, like a passing breeze.

On shaking legs she stood, using the wall of support, leaving bloody red handprints on the cold concrete walls in her wake. Slowly she edged her way outside of the storage room, into the main body of the tavern and towards the back of the building where there was a door leading out into the courtyard behind the tavern.

She couldn’t stay here…she wouldn’t.

Opening the metal latch she pulled the heavy wooden door open to be hit with a sudden blast of cold wind that made her instantly recoil back with a shriek. Outside was a blur of darkness with pale sheets of ice falling from the sky, illuminated by the one tiny lamp outside the door. Beyond the small amount of light emitted was darkness. And in that darkness awaited freedom.

She wasn’t even aware she’d taken the first few steps into the shin high snow until a violent shiver ran through her whole body. She knew it was cold, she could feel the ice biting at her exposed skin of her legs arms and face but she didn’t care.

_She didn’t care._

She was going to get as far away from this…this… _nightmare_. Even if it killed her.

And so she started to walk.

 

\-----------

 

The sound of the wind howling above her had long since become white noise. All she could hear was the ever-constant groan and whine of the gale curling and swirling around he, like a kind of dance.

The cold seemed to have burrowed itself so far inside her it was in her bones, making her joints cry with every move she made through the deep snow. She didn’t know how long she’d been walking, but she could no longer see the lights of the town in the distance or the tavern behind her. Above her she’d occasionally get a glimpse of the moon through the clouds, bright and shinning, like a beacon, surrounded by bright little specks.  Stars.

Her breathing had become shallower with every step she took, the frigid air stabbing her lungs with each breath. She’d stopped shivering a few hundred steps ago, that was when she could feel the cold. Now it was just a… deep hollow ache inside her that thudded dully.

She walked until she lost count of her steps…until she couldn’t feel her legs moving anymore.

Her breath puffed out of her chapped lips to form clouds in front of her, which she could see dimly.

She reached out to grab the little clouds, hoping to catch of of them in her fist, but…her hand just went straight through them. She frowned at the rapidly disappearing clouds, swiping at them again but it just made them disappear more quickly.

Everything was becoming…fuzzy. Her foot caught on the back of her ankle and she stumbled then fell with a heavy _thump_ into the snow. She tried to get up; to keep on moving but her…her legs wouldn’t do what she wanted. It was as though there was no strength left in her body. Stiffly she focused on curling in on herself, bringing her hands to cup around her mouth to breath what little heat she had left onto them.

This…this was good. Better even. Well no, death isn’t usually the preferred option, but it…it was inevitable, really. Honestly she’s surprised she even managed this far without…without…

 

…it’s so cold...

She was tired…tired of cold…tired of _trying_ …

 

Her fingers twitched and slowly…almost cautiously…a familiar little light appeared between her palms…glowing softly, like the stars she’d briefly seen. The little star…made the pain not so bad...

 

…she couldn’t feel the cold anymore…in fact…

 

…it was a little easier to breath…

 

… _tired_ …

 

…soft…

 

 

…warmth enveloped her and she was weightless.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'd say I hope you liked it but...i suppose the point is actually to NOT like it. Because I mean...Come on. That was fucked up. But it was on PURPOSE.  
> So...it like liking a halloween costume? Thats creepy as SHIT so Bravo! ha...or its just fucking creepy....never mind. 
> 
> If you have any questions, ask!
> 
> I hope someone will review, but even if you only read, thank you! :) happy readings


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this one isn't as bad….wait, what do I mean hopefully? I wrote the damn thing! Anyway…I don't know, its hard to write, so sorry Im just really bad at churning out pages.  
> But this chapter is…well I wouldn't use the word happier….more like less depressing?  
> Aye, so…enjoy?

 

The stars were bright. Brighter then she’d ever seen them. They glowed and twinkled, so beautiful and yet so distant. The reason she liked looking at the stars…was because it reminded her that there was beauty out there. Something other than the torment of her life.  
Looking around her, she saw that she was surrounded by not snow, but a field of grass. She’d never seen so much grass before, only wisps of it in the warmer months of the year and in pictures from newspapers. She knelt down and ran her hand across the top of the green blades. They tickled her hand and she couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape at the feeling of the bright green blades against her palms.  
She paused. Standing up she looked up at the sky…the night sky. Then at the green ground. The grass was as bright as thought it were daylight but the sky said it clearly wasn’t. Something was wrong.  
Looking down again she gasped. Her hands were covered in blood. Desperately she tried to wipe it off on her dress but it wouldn’t come off. Suddenly pain hit her in the chest like a stonewall, making her cry out with the shock. Her chest…it…it was caving in, sinking lower and lower until there was nothing left except white brackets of her ribs and spine. And yet she felt no pain, just a horrible feeling of hollow emptiness.  
She sunk down onto the grass, which was now drenched in blood, her arms wrapped around her chest, hoping that that would somehow keep what remained of her torso together. A dull thump echoed through her body,.  
Thump.  
She lifted her head in surprise.  
Thump.  
Moving her head stiffly, she looked down. On the ground in front of her…was a heart. A red and bloodied heart. A heart that was still beating. Still alive. She had a sickening feeling that it was in fact her own. She reached out with shaky hands and took the bloodied organ in her hands. It was as cold as ice. It was so cold in fact that she dropped it in shock at the sudden icy pain that came with touching it. To her horror though, as soon as it hit the ground it shattered into a hundred tiny little pieces. She screamed.

*****

The sound of her own scream jolted her awake and she shot up, mouth open and panting as her heart beat thundered in her ears. She buried her face in her hands, rubbing at her eyes until she saw green spots behind her eyes. Taking her hands away from her eyes she blinked rapidly at her surroundings.  
…where was she?  
She was in a room that was unfamiliar. In fact it was like nothing she’d ever seen before. She was in a large fluffy white sheeted bed with wooden beams on each corner. On the other side of the room directly in front of her was a large dark wood fireplace, the fire itself emitting an orange glow to the rest of the room.  
On the left side of the room as a little window, with pink flowered lacy curtains. On the right was a wardrobe and chest of draws, and right in the corner a door.  
Her brain seemed to be particularly slow to process her surroundings. All she could seem to focus on was the pink curtains. They had some kind little white flowers on them, a kind she’d never seen before.  
….why pink?  
Looking under the thick padded blanket covering her she realised that her body was covered in an assortment of bandaged, with what felt like some kind of coolness underneath them. She poked it a particularly large bandage on her ribs, the pressure of her touch leaving a tingly sensation in its wake. She poked it again.  
Tingly.  
She crawled out of the bed, surprised at how her body didn’t protest as much as she was expecting, and dropped herself lightly onto the hard wooden floor. It was warm beneath her feet. She then noticed she was wearing a white dress, that folded in at her ribs and fell around her legs like a wave. She stroked the material cautiously. It was soft.  
Slowly she crept towards the fire, reveling at its warmth. Standing in front of the fire, she thought about what she last remembered. She’d gone into the snow…and…and…that was all. Nothing else. She scratched the back of her head as she looked around the room again. She doubted she was anywhere near Master anymore…or at least she hoped so. She really hoped so.  
Click. She startled at the sound just outside the door in the corner of the room, and scuttled back to hide behind the bed.  
The door clicked open and she tensed, her grip on her knees turning her knuckles white. The door creaked as it opened and the sound of feet stepping into the room make her bite her lip. The steps paused for the briefest of moments before closing the door and moving towards the fire. Something was placed with a tap tap on the circular table in front of the fire. There was the creak of springs as one of the armchair in front of the fire was sat in. And then nothing.  
She must have waited there for at least ten minutes before she finally risked sneaking a peek over the top of the bed.  
Her eyes widened as she recognized the owner of the large crooked nose silhouetted by the glow of the fire.  
“Hello, Valentine.” She didn’t move, she didn’t even blink. She didn’t trust herself not to fall at the shock of the situation she found herself in.  
He said he’d come back, didn’t he? And this is what he meant, coming back to her?  
“H-hi…” She whispered back, staring at him with wide eyes. Slowly. Every so slowly… she shuffled along the side of the bed to stand by the edge, body half obscured by the thick wooden beam of the bed. It would look as though she was protecting herself from harm way, hiding her body from direct view, but in actual fact she was leaning heavily on the beam and gripping it tightly as her legs seemed to have turned to goop.  
Her brain couldn’t quite seem to understand much at the moment, all except the three words:  
He freed me. He freed me. He freed me. He freed me. He freed me. He freed me. He freed me.  
“Woo—“ She cleared her throat. “W-who are you?”  
“My name is Severus Snape.” Well… She got his name. But that didn’t really answer her question very well. But before she could ask more of him he carried on. “I am a Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” She blinked at him. And blinked again.  
“…w-what?”  
“It’s a school. For magically gifted children, who’re all like you.” He explained, although not successfully. Like her? What did he mean?  
“Oh…” She frowned slightly before replying hesitantly. “…I don’t…understand…” Onyx eyes turned to stare at her, his face cast in shadow.  
“Which part?”  
“…a-all of it…” She said uneasily.  
There was a long stretch of silence where they just stared at each other.  
“I brought you something to eat and drink.” The Professor said, gesturing to a tray on the table in front of her. On the tray was a plate with some crackers, and a flask of some kind of purple drink that was sweet smelling. She stumbled towards it and ate one of the three square in two large bites. In was dry and bland tasting, and it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever tasted.  
“Eat it slowly.” She stopped her eating and saw that he was watching her. She swallowed thickly and backed away with the tray until she was in her previous spot by the bed against the wall. She munched on her squares more slowly until she was licking the crumbs off her hands. When she was finished she lowered her hands onto her lap and stared as the flickering fire. She gnawed at her lip.  
“…W-why did you save me..?” She whispered quietly to the silent man in front of the fire.  
“Because you deserved saving.” She stared down at the hardwood floor, reaching up to tug at her hair. “… and I’m sorry that I hadn’t found you sooner.”  
She bit her lip and stared into the purple drink in the cup. She brought the flask up to her lips and took a sip. It was sweet and tangy and a little slimy on her tongue.  
She watched as the man called Professor Snape stood, and walked over to the door. She put the now empty flask on the tray on the floor and clambered onto the tall bed to watch him leave.  
“I will be back in the morning, so try to get some rest.” She didn’t reply but just watched him open the door, glance at her one more time before closing it softly behind him.  
She stared at the fire for a few more minutes before she let herself think about what she’d just learned. He…he said she was a witch. Witches do…magic…  
She opened her palm, concentrating and willing herself to make that familiar little light. sure enough there was a flicker of light, then a tiny little ball about the size of her index fingers nail, glowing into reality. For as long as she can remember she’d been able to do little strange things like this. Nothing big. Nothing that she’d count as magic.  
Sometimes she’d gotten so scared the bottle she’d carry would bubble and boil, or the glasses at the bar would shatter.  
Then there were little things like this. The little light. It was the one thing she knew how to do and could produce on command, because…because it was a feeling. All she had to do was think about the warmth she knew existed in the world, the warmth she’d felt so many years ago. The light shone softly, warming her hands. She sighed tiredly and lay down onto the cool sheets, the little light cupper in her hands and fell asleep the minute she closed her eyes.

*****

She didn’t have any bad dreams that night. She didn’t dream of anything. Only blissful oblivion.

*****

Sunlight flittered through the gaps in the flowery curtains, bright highlighting strips across the bed. She was surrounded by warmth, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She slowly floated into consciousness, a light airy feeling unfurling inside her chest as she breathed in the scents around her. Her eyes shot open as she didn’t detect moldy wood or the sharp bitter tang of alcohol. She flailed, blanket suddenly turned from a cocoon of warmth to suffocating her. All she could think as she struggled in her blind panic was panicescapepanicescaperunrunrun.  
She pushed against her fabric confinements until she heard a ripping sound and suddenly the bed was no longer there and the hit the wooden floor with a jarring whack.  
She lay there for ten hurried heart beats before she peaked out from the sheet hanging over her face, half of it still on the bed. The room looked different in the daytime. Not as dark and…scary.  
She sat up slowly, tugging the rest of the blanket off and using the bed as support she got to her feet. She felt…sort of drowsy. A little dizzy.  
She could faintly hear the sound of birds from outside, so she went to the little window to peek out through the flowery curtains. Her mouth fell open upon what she saw. Hundreds of building tops stretched out in front of her, and behind that in the far distance was tall looming structures, the kind she’d never seen before. She closed the curtain quickly, turning away from the window.  
Where was she?  
That was something the man, Snape, hadn’t answered yesterday. Although granted she didn’t ask….But it was still something she felt she should know.  
In the daylight she realised there was another door in the room. On the opposite side of the room to the door Professor Snape had come through, on the wall with the fire. She approached the door hesitantly, and turned the doorknob—it opened. She peered inside. It was a bathroom. She’d never been in one, but she’d deep them in the newspaper. It was all white tiles and soft dark wood. It smelt flowery. She frowned and closed the door again.  
She made her way over to the other door, running her hands over the soft fabric of the arm chairs as she went. When she tried this door handled, it didn’t open. She felt like she’d been drenched in cold water. It was locked.  
Suddenly there was a noise from the other side of the door and before she had a chance to process it the door had started to open. She scrambled backward as fast as she could, stumbling as she got her foot caught on the rug. She tumbled against the wooden floor but quickly crawled to hide behind one of the arm chairs, the furthest one away from the door. She peeked around the armchair as Professor Snape, who was standing in the doorway, watching her.  
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He said softly. He didn’t move from the doorframe. “May I come in?” She didn’t know why he was asking her permission, why he didn’t just come in and sit down. Why’d he need to have permission from her? He was the one in charge, he held all the power.  
So she just stared at him in confusing, waiting for him to step in. He didn’t. He wasn’t going to move unless she answered him.  
“Y-you can…” she said quietly, watching him with wide cautious eyes. He stepped into the room slowly, catching him watching her.  
He came and sat down on the arm chair in front of her.  
“I’m not going to hurt you, Valentine.” She didn’t reply. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”  
“I-I'm not afraid!” She whispered quickly. She couldn’t show any weakness…even if he did save her, she didn’t fully understand his intentions. “…I just…I d-don’t trust you.” Snape blinked at her before nodding in understanding.  
“And you are right not to.” Valentine looked at him in surprise and stood up, still hidden behind the arm chair.  
“I s-shouldn’t?” He leant forward, elbows resting on his knees.  
“No. Trust is a dangerous thing and should not be easily given.” Glanced at the door behind him before turning her gaze back to him.  
Then she slowly shuffled around the arm chair to sit, not fully though so that she could make a quick escape to the other side of the room in a moments notice. She rested her skinny little arms on the armrests.  
“…you said I’m m-magic…” She looked at the burning ambers in the fire, barely glowing. “What did you mean…b-by that?” Professor Snape sat back in the chair.  
“You are a witch.” She stared at him. “You can do magic, and are of magical heritage.” She carried on staring. “I, myself, am a wizard.” Finally she stopped staring at him and looked down at the floor for a moment. When she looked up again her jaw was set and she had a determined look in her eye.  
“Prove it.” She said stubbornly. Professor Snape stared at her, nodded once and pulled something out of his sleeve. A stick. No…a wand?  
He flicked the tip in the direction of the table a few feet away. To her astonishment the table lifted into the air and bobbed towards them quite casually before plopping down in between herself and Professor Snape. She gaped at the table.  
“More?” He asked, and didn’t wait for an answer before he waved the wand over the table and the tray from last night materialized out of nowhere, with a plate of food on it.  
Valentine pressed herself against the back of the armchair in alarm.  
“W-where did that come from?!” She yelped, staring wide eyed at Professor Snape.  
“Downstairs. I simply brought it here, with this,” he nodded to his wand.  
“…with magic…” He nodded. “You’re magical. A wizard.” Another nod. “And I’m a witch…” another nod. “…o----k…” She said slowly, deciding to believe him. For now.  
A few beats of silence.  
“You should eat.” He said. She only really just noticed how hungry she actually was, the deep gnawing ache in her stomach demanding sustenance. It wasn’t a new feeling. She snatched the plate up quickly, munching on the bread as quickly as she could, all the while not taking her eyes off of him.  
“You will live here for now, this will be your home.” She stopped eating. “You never have to go back to that place and that…man ever again.”  
Her mind seemed to stutter to a halt when he said those words. She never…never had to go back…? Was he telling the truth? How did she know he wasn’t lying?  
He told me not to trust him…she thought to herself, tearing the bread in front of her into tiny little pieces that she ate at a more sedated pace. Why would he tell her not to trust him? What did he gain from telling her this? But as she kept his unwavering gaze she couldn’t help but…believe the man. This stranger.  
“He was a bad man.” He told her calmly. She bit her lip.  
“A-am I…bad?” She asked quietly. Master always told her she was. That she was scum. She was filth that didn’t even deserve to be on the bottom of his boots. She tried not to listen when he said those words. She’d tried to block him out. It never worked…  
Snape leaned forwards in the chair, making her instantly stiffen. He paused when he noticed this, but didn’t break eye contact with her.  
“No.” He said firmly, and the conviction that he said it with took her aback. “You are not. What he…what he did to you was bad, it was evil. He is a monster.” She flinched as he spat out that word like it was poison. “But you…Valentine it is not your fault. Never, not for one second think it is. You are a victim of his cruelty, nearly your whole life. And that is no ones fault but his, and mine for not finding you sooner. You did not deserve how you were treated, and you will never be treated like that again. Ever.” Tears stung her eyes, making her vision blurry. She sucked in a shuddering breath, the air catching in her throat. She couldn’t swallow.  
“R-really?” she whispered brokenly, so quietly Snape barely just caught the word. Valentine couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let the tears roll down her face, salty taste of them seeping into the crease of her lips and falling onto her white dress. Her breaths came in choked out sobs and she tried to prevent herself from simply wailing the misery and relief twisting a battle for dominance inside her chest, making it feel tight. Like she couldn’t get enough air. She felt like she couldn’t breath for a few minutes, each breath a struggle against the onslaught of tears running down her cheeks and stinging her eyes. She kept trying to suck in a breath, but it was hard to get her lungs to work, it felt like a heavy weight was pressed on her chest. Her throat felt tight and sore, like she’d been strangled. She reached into her hair to tug at it, a method she used often to calm herself down. The dull tug and small amount of pain usually made her get out of her head but it didn’t seem to be working. She couldn’t stop crying. She used her other hand to cover her face and curled in on herself, trying to hide the tears from Snape. Tears were weakness.  
Only then did she realise he was talking.  
“Its okay…you’re fine…you’re safe,” He was speaking softly, making these tiny little shushing sound, little hums of noise from the back of his throat. She let the rhythmic sound of his attempt at comfort calm her breathing until her panicked gasping was nothing more than little whimpers and sniffs. Her face was streaked in tears and she had a runny nose. She wiped it on her dress sleeve.  
Valentine stared at him watching her in concern, his eyes looking pinched and tight around the edges.  
With another wave of his wand a big metal tanker appeared in front of her on the table.  
“This might make you feel better.” He said softly, the tanker inching a bit towards her. She eyed it wearily, sniffing loudly before reaching out with shaking hands. It was warm to the touch, and when she looked inside she saw some kind of white foam covering the top.  
“That’s whipped cream. It’s made from milk. Try it.” He encouraged gently. She poked in hesitantly, until she had some on her finger, before putting it in her mouth. It was quite a bright taste, but soft. She dipped her finger in it again, licking it off. Underneath there was brown liquid.  
“Its hot chocolate.” She glanced at him before carefully taking a sip. The heat of the drink was what first struck her. The taste seemed to coat her while mouth, almost overwhelmingly so; it was deep and velvety in taste, with a constant flow of sweetness laced in. She drank it quickly.  
She honestly didn’t think she had any more tears left inside her. She felt alarmingly hollow. She wheezed out a breath, sitting up a little straighter. With shaking hands she placed the tanker back on the table, and wrapped her arms around her torso.  
Professor Snape was watching her closely, as if waiting for something to happen. She didn’t know what he wanted her to do. She couldn’t find it in herself to cry, he was right, the ‘hot chocolate’ had made her feel better. Or at least less like she couldn’t breath and that her head was going to explode. She ran her tongue over her teeth, chasing the taste.  
“How do you feel?” Valentine shrugged one shoulder. She didn’t really know how she felt. Warm. Yes, she felt warm. That was really all she could think of at the moment.  
“Do you want to know where you are?” She sat up a little straighter and nodded her head vigorously.  
“Y-yes!”  
“You are in London.” She blinked at him owlishly. “England?” She nodded her head slowly, slightly more aware of the countries existence then London. She’d seen it in newspapers.  
“You are at a place called the Leaky Cauldron. It sells drinks and food to people, with rooms people can stay in.” The grip on her gown tightened.  
“L-like—“ She started to say, thinking this Leaky Cauldron sounded like the tavern.  
“No.” He reassured her quickly. “Nothing like before. No one will hurt you here.” She relaxed just a fraction. It could be seen in the way her eyes seemed less pinched, mouth relaxing from the grimace it had turned into, her body slightly less curled in on itself.  
“This place is for people of the wizarding world. It’s hidden from Muggles.”  
“M-muggles?” She said in confusion.  
“Non-magical people are called Muggles. Muggles do not know of the existence of the magical world, except in fiction and myth.”  
“Oh…” She murmured dully, taking the information in but not really knowing what was the appropriate response. So that’d be why she’d never heard of wizards and witches actually being a real thing.  
Everything felt very surreal, she wasn’t really sure of anything at the moment.  
They stared at each other, almost daring the other to make the first move. Finally Snape sighed, waving his wand and the table moved from in between them to beside her armchair. She tenses, suddenly feeling exposed again. He stood up.  
“Would you allow me to check your wounds, Valentine?” She stiffened even further as he kneeled in front of her. “I need to make sure that they’re healing.” He reached out slowly, as though she were a wounded animal. In a way she was.  
Mere inches away from touching her arm, crossed in front of her. “Please?” He asked quietly. She stared at him with large, wary eyes before, slowly, so slowly, pressed her arm into his grasp.  
His hand was large with spindly knobbly fingers, and could easily enclose her fragile wrist but his grip was steady and sure as he grasped her lightly. She’d never been handled with so much care.  
He slowly unwrapped the bandages on her arms, one after the other. There were bruises, a smattering of green and yellow, scatter all along her arms. He gripped her arms one at a time with both hand, flexing his fingers against the arm, almost assessing them. She winced slightly, her bones feeling brittle and sore.  
“W-what…” She started to say, unsure of how to ask what it is he was doing. He glanced at her, dark eyes reflecting the glow from the window and morning sun.  
“I’m checking your bones. To see if they’re still as fragile as I last examined them, some of the bones in your arms were fractured, as well as two being shattered.” He flexed his grip on her arms a few more times before slowly trailing his wand across the length of each of her arms, the end of it glowing faintly. She watched as he also trailed it over her torso and hips and alone one of her legs. Then he sat back and put his wand in his cloak. “Well it seems as though you have healed well, albeit quicker then I expected.”  
“R-really?” She asked worriedly.  
“I used magic to heal the damage, but it takes almost a week for the bones to fully fuse and mend itself, as well as for the swelling to go down. You seem to be quite lucky, you healed quicker then most would do with injuries such as your own.”  
“M-my injuries?” She couldn’t really remember anything specific of where she was hurt. Just pain.  
Professor Snape looked at her thoughtfully.  
“…I think it’s best you not know.” He decided. “Now is a time for you to heal and rest.” She nodded slightly. She’d rather not remember. “I have some business to see to, but I’ll be back this evening to talk to you about Hogwarts, the school you will be attending.”  
“Oh…” She said quietly, and although she still felt a knot of anxiety being in close proximity to him, there was a little part of her that didn’t want him to go. To leave her. She didn’t understand that part of her.  
Professor Snape seemed to notice her reaction though, and he paused in his departure.  
“You…” She could hear him swallowing all the way from where she was. “You’re safe, Valentine. Do you understand that?” He asked, his voice taking on an even softer note. She nodded after a moment of hesitation, watching his face closely for any sign of a lie. With one more concerned look directed at her Snape left the room. The locking of the door seeming to echo and bounce off the walls.  
She hugged her legs to her chest, her cheek resting on her knees and stared at the low smoky ambers still in the fireplace, the inside of her head quiet for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are spelling mistakes, like maaaajor big ones please tell me, but if they're tiny…..hm, i suppose still tell me anyway.  
> Bit less depressing maybe? Who knows.  
> I would LOVE the hear any thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg whaaaat?  
> I updated?! I know right! Shocker!
> 
> I feel so bad its just 85% of the time writing for me is like 'UAAAAAAAAARGHWORDSGETOUTWTFLEAVENODONTDOTHATJHBKNLM!!!!'
> 
> So...you know...it makes this whole writing a fan fiction a little harder then I think it should be. 
> 
> Lets just put it that I have a lot of thoughts and ideas but not a lot of motivation.
> 
> Also, university work is in the way so HA! Thats a legit excuse!
> 
> ....not really.
> 
> This is....idk. it just is. I really liked writing the end though. I almost made MYSELF CRY! that how much FEELS i was feeling.
> 
> for realsies

  

 

 _The_ Dream _started just as it always had done, the slow drumming of a heartbeat that was not her own, covering her like a calming balm. Next came smell, the musk of warm skin, old worn cotton and burnt wood. Then touch, gentle strokes upon her hair, hand in hand with the heartbeat against her ear, and the gently humming of a hushed voice lulling her further and further into a deep sleep._

_Her eyes snapped opened at the abrupt loss of heat, a hollow chill that made her teeth chatter had replaced it and her body stiffened. She was lying upon something that felt like a mixture of leather and cloth. She pushed herself up awkwardly up into a sitting position, to inspect what the hard knobbly thing she was sitting on was…_

_A scream gurgled out of her throat, and she threw herself away from what she realised was a decomposing body, its bare yellow teeth grinning at her panic. Her body trembled violently as she took in the rest of the body, the clothes it was wearing. It looked like—_

_“…n-nooooo…” A whine bubbled out of her throat as she covered her face with her hands, trying to cover up what was in front of her, to un-see it somehow. But she couldn’t. Even when her eyes were shut she could still see the black pits for eyes that it had._ You have, _her mind whispered. Which made her shudder even more, her body trying to curl in on itself, to cease existing._

\--I’m sorry please forgive me I’m sorry please forgive me I’m sorry please forgive me I’m sorry please forgive me I’m sorry please forgive me I’m sorry please forgive me I’m sorry please forgive me--

_She was so consumed by her distressing and guilty mantra inside her head that she didn’t notice the familiar corpse twitched in her direction until a cold skin peeling hand grabbed her ankle. She jerked back, shriek stuck in her throat, her hair hitting the wall with a CRACK—_

 

Her body jolted off the edge of the bed, hitting the corner of the side table— _hard._ She gasped wetly curling in on herself at the pain, her vision blurred with the resulting tears.  She clawed at her chest, desperately trying to breath through the pain in her ribcage, a cold numbing throbbing gnawing at her insides making her limbs cease up.

Her body twisted trying to escape the agony, to desperately distance itself from the excruciating shudders that rock her frame, but the only thing she managed to do was role onto her stomach and scrabble at the floor, trying to find purchase, something to press against.

She felt the sting of bile at the back of her throat, her eyes running as she choked on a cough, and her stomach emptying its content against her consent. She retched until all she was just dry heaving with the occasional wet sob.

Valentine felt like she’d surely shiver out of her skin, she couldn’t stop shaking, although yet at the same time she didn’t think that was possible, she felt like her body was too small for her insides, she felt pinched, trapped and unable to breath.

Her vision was topsy-turvy as she looked around the still alien room, all dark spaces, unfamiliar smells and shapes, she needed something--something she knew, something she recognized—

Despite the haziness of her thoughts she noticed a thin slither of light out of her peripheral vision. She grasped feebly at the blankets, trying to hoist herself up from her fetal position on the floor. She whimpered as her muscles screamed at her in protest, but she ignored it all in attempts to get towards the light. When she realised she wasn’t going to be able to pull herself up she tried for dragging herself across the floor, fingertips going numb at the pain of using them as her only source of leverage. When she got to the wall she lunged upwards with a grunt, only barely grabbing the windowsill, fumbling to find a grip. She bit her lip until she felt blood, straining to pull herself up to a something resembling standing.

 _She couldn’t stay here. She had to run. She would_ not _be trapped. Not again. If she stayed here he would find her again. She had to run._

She flung away the curtains obscuring her view, to be greeted by moonlight; pouring onto her face and suddenly her pain was almost unoticeable. No longer was she hidden from the moons shining light. She could see.

She stretched to reach the latch of the window, the old wooden frame of the window screeching as she shoved it open, a blast of cool air hitting her in the face, making her shiver. Valentine glanced behind her at the dark room, and all the shadows in there.

Everything in her mind was screaming at her to _run run run from here he’ll find you you’re not safe he can still get to you you’ll must RUN GO NOW!_

She only just managed to hoist herself up onto the windows ledge, looking out at rooftops, which she could only tell were rooftops because of the light the moon provided. There was a sloping edge just bellow her window, and about a meter after that empty air until the next flat surface of another building top. She eyed the challenge before her warily, her hearth thumping heavily in her chest. Although her pain had lessened, she still found herself breathing heavily in order to cope with it, a headache blaring angrily behind her eyes. She blinked fiercely, trying to rid herself of the fuzziness she hadn’t seemed to shake since she woke up.

She hesitantly toed the cool but dry shingles on the roof under the window, before easing herself off the ledge, still keeping a tight grip of the frame as she crept closer to the edge until she had to let go.

Her white nightie swayed slightly in the summer breeze. Valentine felt like her heart was in her throat, looking longingly at the other roof only a meter and a half in front of her. But with a 20 ft. drop in between. She can’t forget about that.

She clenched her jaw, stepped as far back as she could without going back through the window and ran. Well it was more five purposeful strides before she was flying, nothing underneath to support her. Weightless.

Except that she was and she landed on her stomach and rolled on the other roof with an ‘oof’, the wind thoroughly knocked out of her. She scrabbled to safety further onto the roof before crawling to her hands and knees, then stumbling to her feet and setting off quickly, as though the devil was at her heel.

Beyond the buildings she sees lights, white, red, blue and gold. But she doesn’t stop to look at them. She just runs, individual buildings passing under her, all joined into one long stretch. When she comes to another gap, this time a foot larger, she doesn’t stop she just leaps, skidding to a stop on the other side. She’d panting hard, and when she looks back she could barely see the small window in the wall she just come from.

At the very edge of the hard graveled roof she currently stood on was an iron ladder, which she hoped led down to the ground. She clambered down it as fast as possible, missing some of the steps in her haste on the way down. But to her horror the ladder didn’t reach all the way to the ground. It ran half way down the building and then stopped, the rusty iron must have corroded and fallen away. She felt a desperate whine bubbling up at the back of her throat. She was at the back of the building, where it was just concrete, bricks and dirt. There was about 3 ½ meters below her before the ground. She had no choice, she had to jump. So she let go of the bars.

As soon as her feet hit the ground her legs crumpled as the rest of her body tried to land with just as much force. She toppled over, her forehead bashing harshly on the dirty cold floor. Pain flashed behind her eyes and she groans, rolling up into a sitting position. She touched the soon to be big angry bump on her temple and felt wetness there. She swallowed thickly and clambered to her feet and walked on unsteadily towards the gold light at the end of the alley, using the brick wall as support.

Valentine could faintly hear the sounds of an animal shuffling about, sniffing things. The high pitched sound of a bat flew overhead. But there was also the sound of…voices. Which became louder the closer to the end of the alley she got. Her ears strained to pick out what they were saying but for all she could tell they were talking gibberish

She gasped as she got the threshold of the alley. Bright tangy orange lights glared at her from overhead, and a stream of bright obnoxious lights covered the buildings in front of her, blaring at her eyes even when she closed her eyes.

What she thought was supposed to be a road, although she’d never seen one as big as this, lay in front of her, strange markings painted onto it, yellow arrows and white lines. There was even some kind of mini road raised up on either side of the painted one. It looked to be a road for people.

And there were _lots_ of people.

Some walking fast, others slow, and some just standing around in groups, talking, laughing and shouting so loud it made her ears ring.

She stepped into the crowd, although she was reluctant to do so. It was her only way to escape. She had to bear with it, despite all the strange smells and noises. She hunched her shoulders and ducked her head down low, her feet becoming numb against the cold ground.

Valentine had to breath through her mouth, the scents all around her were dizzying. She didn’t know how long she walked in the crowd, trying to weave in and around people, avoid touching them at all costs and yet not be noticed. She couldn’t see anything past the masses.

Because she couldn’t see anything except the ground beneath her feet it’s really no surprise when she end up tripping on something, or lack of something for a better word. She lands harshly on her hands and knees, scraping the first layer of skin of and biting her tongue. A bight light blinded her as a high screech could be heard. A loud blaring sound pieced her head and she howled in pain. Something gripped her shoulder tightly and turned her around. She heard gasps, and murmurs but no words. None that she could understand. The one who gripped her shoulder was saying something to her urgently, concern on the womans face.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re s-saying,” She stuttered out, looking at all the faces trained on her. The one talking to her blinked, confusing sweeping over her expression. More people started to crowd around her, all talking at once, getting louder and louder. The woman grabbed hold of her wrist and she bolted.

She just ran, ran past lights, people, buildings, she ran until her lungs felt like they were on fire and her legs felt like they were going to fall off until finally she collapsed behind what appeared to be a mostly abandoned building, behind some bins. Her heart was hammering in her head, her breathing loud in the quietness of the backstreet where she could barely make out the sound of the people on the streets anymore. She couldn’t feel the rough grit underneath her curled up legs, she couldn’t feel the light drizzle that had started, all she could feel was the tight knot in her chest, making it even harder for her to breath. She hugged herself, a pitiful whine escaping through her clenched teeth. She tried to blink away the stinging tears but she was powerless to stop them from running down her face, barely noticeable against the rain.

Valentine shouldn’t have left the room she should never have run away, she didn’t know— _she didn’t know_ , it’s so much worse out here. Her senses were overwhelmed with the smells that were foreign and scary. Not to mention the sounds, everything was so _noisy_ and she couldn’t _think_ she could barely even breath, she felt like her chest was too tight for her lungs, which were straining, gasping trying to expand enough to just breath. The world was spinning, she couldn’t tell what she was seeing so she squeezed her eyes shut to try and dispel the dizziness falling over her, her stomach churning sickeningly.

Darkness started to creep in; she could see it around the edge of her vision, waiting, ready to pounce when she wasn’t paying attention.

And then it pounced.

But…wait, no. She wasn’t unconscious. She blinked blearily as she was unexpectedly enveloped in warmth, softness draped over her bruised and icy skin, suddenly aware of the shivers running through her body. Someone was stroking her hair, murmuring soft nothings in her ear.

Her breathing evened out at the rhythmic strokes through her sodden hair, the gentle swaying of her body as the cold slowly ebbed out of her. She curled into the heat, nuzzling her head against warm material, too tired to be unnerved by such close contact with another person. The stroking stopped momentarily before her face was pressed against something warmer, like skin, a pulse different from her own loud in her ears as she burrowed closer to the calming rhythm. She was able to breath if she timed her exhales with the beat, and the pain in her chest lifting and she finally sagged into oblivion.

 

*** 

 

A flickering light glowed beyond her eyelids. There was a line of heat alongside her body, keeping her warm, until the source shifted carefully away. She whined softly in objection, and the heat soon returned, a soft shift of fabric at her side, disturbing her position, but before she had time to grunt in protest a soothing caress smoothed down her back, and Valentine felt safe, relaxed like she’d never been, and let herself succumb to the dark again.

 

***

 

 She waked up to the sharp sound of china clinking together and sunlight streaming in through the open windows, the faint sound of birds and streets pouring in. She blinks against the sun, and rubbed her eyes as she sits up, her joints aching with the movement. Fresh bandages on her hands scratch at her face and she sees she’s littered in them. She can’t remember how she got them and suddenly the night before comes rushing back to her. She shudders at the memory of _out there._ She rubbed her arms.

“Don’t disturb the bandages. I don’t want to have to re-do them.” A voice said from behind her. She gasped in surprise and turned in the large armchair to look at Snape, whom she hadn’t realised was in the room. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes watching her intensely. She gulped loudly.

“G-good morning…” She said quietly, looking down at her hands uncomfortably. He had rescued her. And not for the first time. And she’d still run away.

“You’ve been asleep for a long time, I should think ‘good afternoon’ is more appropriate.” He said stiffly, going to sit on the armchair opposite her. She only just noticed the spread that was on the table in front of her. That was where the smell was coming from, freshly cooked food, bread, meat, eggs and a drink.

“Is this—”

“You’re very under weight for your age. It’s time I started feeding you correctly.” He said briskly, opening a newspaper from under his arm. She licked her lips and looked at the food, but didn’t touch. She rubbed her hands against the smooth dry wood of the table nervously.

“ _Eat_.” She jumped again. Dark eyes peered at her over the newspaper sternly. The “please” was said more gently.

She started with the toast, nibbling on it at first before a sudden wave of hunger overtook her and she stuffed it in, crumbs be damned. Then it was the sausages and bacon; she’d only ever tasted them a few times. It was better then she remembered or could have imagined, the deep richness overwhelmed her senses and she licked her fingers, chasing the taste once she was done. She ate the eggs with a what she thought was called a spoon, she was a little confused by the names of so many different things used to eat with, and finally drank an orange coloured drink that sparked her taste buds and left a tingly sweet aftertaste in her mouth.

It was all gone in about ten minutes.

She wiped her mouth and leant back into the armchair, not liking how she’d practically forgotten Snape’s presence while she ate. She’d been distracted and left herself vulnerable.

He’d stopped reading the newspaper at some point while she was gorging herself; the paper was now folded in his lap and his full attention was on her. She wasn’t sure she liked it like that. She prepared herself for the swift scolding she knew was bound to happen. Where she was told while she was free to a certain degree, she was still under this mans control, and to disobey had hard consequences.

“I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what she was expecting.

“What.” It wasn’t a question. She just…she didn’t understand. “I don’t understand.”

“That would be where our problem lies,” He set the newspaper on the table. “I have failed you.”

“…failed?” She asked, still completely lost. He looked down at his joined hands.

“When I took you from…that place, you became my responsibility, as such it was not only my responsibility to protect you, but to make you _feel_ protected and safe.” He glanced at her, but his eyes did not meeting hers, instead settling on her new bandages. “I didn’t achieve that. _Obviously_.” Valentine didn’t know what to say. She stared at her hand, the silence becoming thicker around her. So thick in fact that it felt as though it was slowly crawling down her throat, making her feel so uncomfortable that she blurted—

“I had a dream.” She clamped her mouth shut, just as surprised at her outburst as Snape was.

“A dream?” After a brief moment of hesitation she nodded stiffly.

“…back.” She swallowed thickly. “It why I…He was…b-back…he found m-me—“ She felt her throat closing up, tears stinging her eyes just thinking about the dream. She gasped wetly, trying to grasp onto some semblance of control, hands clasping her hands together against her chest so tight her knuckled were ghost white. The old sense panic reared its ugly head at the back of her mind, ready and waiting to strike, to get her, just like _him_ —

“ _NO.”_

Valentines gaze jerked up to Snape’s. His face has morphed into a thunderous scowl, onyx eyes bright and furious. It’s an expression that would have frightened her if it weren’t for the words that came out of his mouth after. “He will _NEVER_ find you Valentine. He will never even _see_ you again let alone to be able to touch you. You have to understand this Valentine, _that I will never let you be hurt by that man again.”_ She gaped at him at his fierce outburst. He wasn’t angry with _her_ , he was angry _for her._ “I swear I will do _everything_ in my powers to protect you from feeling pain like that ever again.” He turned his gaze away to stare at the dying embers in the fire. “I wish I had been able to protect you from the pain you’ve experienced. I wish…that I had been able to take you away from that life and that _monster_ earlier in your life.” No one had _ever!—_ she’d never even dreaming— _she’d_ _never_ _even heard anyone_ —

“ _Why would you say that?!”_ She cried in horror, fresh salty tears streaming down her face. She clambered down from the over stuffed armchair and stumbled to stop in front of Snape, an angry little glare on her red and blotchy face. “Why? WHY? Why would you say something like that?!” Snape’s was staring at her with a startled expression on his face, as though not comprehending what was happening. “You have NO Obligation to say any of that so why, WHY WOULD YOU?!” She shrieked, pulling at her hair viciously. “It doesn’t make any _sense_ , _none_ of this makes any _sense_! _You don’t make any sense!_ ” She was openly crying/shouting, her eyes red and puffy, her nose snotty, and she’d never been more confused while angry at the same time in her life. “Why—w-why would you _care?_!” She demanded him incredulously. “I’m—I’m nothing, I’m no one I don’t—I don’t deserve _any_ of this! I’ve never done _anything good to deserve any of this!_ ” She gestured at the room, her arms flailing wildly. “You shouldn’t be doing _any of this!_ We don’t _know_ each other so w-why—w-why do you—w-why—“ She hiccoughed, unable to carry on, having been crying and shouting too loudly for her voice to handle anymore.

She wiped futilely at the never ending stream of tears she couldn’t seem to hold back, and was too distracted to notice Snape moving towards her until he was touching her, lifting her in fact, into his lap. She instantly stiffened, such close proximity to him sending her panicking. As she was frozen, she couldn’t do much as Snape guided her head to his shoulder, his body seeming huge as he wrapped his arms around her small figure.

She didn’t know what she was expecting but it wasn’t…it wasn’t just staying still. They say in silence for what felt like a very long time but was probably only five minutes, enough time for her heart rate to calm almost back to normal, although she hadn’t relaxed bodily.

She tenses further when one of the hands on her back lifted away, but was surprised to feel it run down her back. Once. Twice. Three times and then she realised he was effectively _petting_ her. To calm her down. She didn’t want to fall for it but…but he was _warm._ And soft, and the reassuring and steady movement on his large palm, stroking her back in time with the matching rhythm (his heart beat she realised, the same from last night) in his chest which her head was laid against was…it was nice. Soothing. She realised hazily that she felt _safe._

“You are _not_ nothing. You don’t need to have done anything, because you _deserve to be loved Valentine._ ” He whispered into her hair.

The air in her lungs rushed out in one long exhale, her chest suddenly felt too tight for what she was feeling. It was a feeling she’d never felt before, but it felt as though she was going to drown in it. Her eyes watered, but if any more tears fell she hid them in the soft material covering Snape’s chest. Her arms, which had been curled against her body, stretched out to reach partially around his torso, and held on tightly, her little fist griping his robes as tightly as she could. Tight enough to anchor herself against the emotions rushing inside her, meaning she was unable to respond as she sobbed mutely into his chest. Even if she could talk, she wouldn’t know how to say what she felt.

Although she thought he understood, because his arms tightened around her waist, while the gentle stroked of her back never stopped.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh. BYTHEWAY. For the..action-y, running away bit, I was listening to the track 'The Dragon Boy' by Joe Hisashi from the movie Spirited Away. Look it uuuuuup its an awesome soundtrack.   
> And I have a LOT of songs that go with moments of this story cos what else am I supposed to do on the bus? pfft.
> 
> Thoughts? Questions? Complaints? although actually keep the complaints to yourself if they're too rude....who likes rude people ugh.
> 
> happy reading!
> 
> Chow my darlings!
> 
>  
> 
> (p.s. my foundation group went to harry potter land (not the american one no we're too cheap) it was so cool. Although I do see it differently in my head so I was going around thinking 'this is all too small! it would never work!' I still spent a lot in their shop so I think J.K will forgive me. I am now the proud owner of an obnoxiously bright yellow Hufflepuff (woo go hufflepuff, lovable bastards) backpack, announcing my loyalties to the entire world whenever i wear it. Its possible the brightest thing i own. )


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